


My never-ending dawn

by this_bright_eyed_soul



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Anne is oblivious, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gilbert is in love, Pining, i guess?, oh so romantical, romantical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 04:43:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18514138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_bright_eyed_soul/pseuds/this_bright_eyed_soul
Summary: “Before, in my meadow, I had been in a perpetual evening, night looming, threatening. But as she danced around me, twirling, swirling, unfurling the knot in my stomach, my life became a never-ending dawn, the possibilities unimaginably vast. She was my dawn, my day, my life.”Really, it was Miss Stacy's fault that she gave so little time for them to work on their stories. Maybe if Gilbert had had more time to think, he wouldn't have written a story that was practically a gift-wrapped declaration of his love for Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. And perhaps it wouldn't have mattered so much if not for the fact that he had to read it in front of the whole class.In which Gilbert is in love and Anne is oblivious, but that doesn't matter, because she's the light of his life either way





	My never-ending dawn

**Author's Note:**

> My first AWAE fic!! This is very exciting!!  
> I actually thought of Gilbert's story when I was out on an evening walk and having gay-ass daydreams about a cute girl coming and befriending me and us falling in love. And then I thought, hm, this is a little bit Anne! And then I thought, hm, I can imagine Gilbert daydreaming about Anne like this!  
> So, here it is, you're welcome. Hope you enjoy!

Gilbert stared at his paper, a dreamy smile still quirking at his lips from what he had written. His mind had come to a standstill, apparently content with his two small paragraphs. But this would not do at all. He knew he was not as proficient in writing as Anne, but he still wanted to put his best effort in. Momentarily, however, he allowed himself to drift into the picture of what he had written. Bash would laugh at him if he ever saw this piece of paper, that was sure and certain. It was practically a declaration of love. The imagery he had drawn was so overt, so simple, it was embarrassing. He was sure that Anne would have done a far better job, equipping her vast vocabulary and imagination to bring subtle hints as to the inspiration of the piece, in a way in which only someone who knew the muse intimately would be able to take note of. Certainly, he was not a bad writer, but he could not help but admire the superior skills of Anne. Still, it would be wise to keep this page far from the knowing eyes of Bash. He had to maintain some dignity in that house, if there was any left to maintain. 

Perhaps if Miss Stacy had given them more than a mere half hour to write their piece, Gilbert would have had more time to think of something. He was surely not the only student struggling with the time frame; he could hear faint sighs and grumbles about the room, and as he turned to the girls’ side of the room, he could see Anne scribbling at a most impossible speed, brows furrowed and her bottom lip between her teeth in concentration. If his look could have softened any more at the sight, it most certainly would have. 

“All right class,” Miss Stacy called the room to attention, and Gilbert continued watching Anne as she appeared not to have heard her teacher (though it was obvious she had, as the speed of her writing increased). “Anne, pen down please,” Miss Stacy insisted gently, and Anne sighed dejectedly as he abandoned her work. 

Gilbert chose then to pay attention to Miss Stacy at the front of the room, not wanting to miss any important information. 

“I hope you are all happy with what you have written, though it was a short time to write. I wanted you all to be reminded that sometimes there is great value in writing that has not been read over and amended and edited an hundred times over.” Gilbert smiled ruefully at this, aware that he probably was too much of a perfectionist. “It is important to be proud of your work, too. So, for the remainder of the school day, I shall pull names out of a hat for people to read their work aloud at the front of the room.” 

Gilbert’s heart stuttered. He should have thought more about what he could write, he should have used more imagination. Still, he may not be chosen. Even if he was, it was not as if he was  _ashamed_  of how he felt about Anne. In fact, he was proud of it. But that did not ease the stress on his heart. Miss Stacy had lifted an old hat atop her desk, and was already lifting a small piece of paper from it. He resisted the temptation to cross his fingers for luck. 

“And our first to read, will be...” Miss Stacy paused for dramatic effect, and Gilbert felt as though the whole room was holding its breath; it may well have been, as nobody but Anne enjoyed having to read out their work, and he could see out of the corner of his eye that she was still in anticpation, no doubt hoping for her name to be drawn. He hoped her name would be drawn, too. 

“Gilbert Blythe.” 

Of course. He let out a shaky breath, and stood. It would be worse if he was visibly embarrassed or nervous. 

- 

Anne slumped in her seat slightly, disappointed she had not been called upon. There was plenty of time left in the day, and she would still have a chance, but she was so very keen to share her story of a daring princess and a gentle knight. She was, however, also interested in Gilbert’s story, as she had never known him to write. She noted a light flush of pink on his neck, and wondered if he was nervous to read. It was not usual for him to be nervous to speak before the class, but he had never read out a story of his own. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” Miss Stacy smiled at him gently. 

Anne watched, enraptured, as Gilbert took a deep breath, and then began to read in a clear, smooth voice. 

“ _She came to me_ _in_ _a meadow, one sweet spring morning. I was stood still, a statue, until she bounded into me. A nymph of the meadow; her yells, her tears, her laughter, all sounds entwining together into_ _sincere_ _song_.” 

Anne felt her breath catch in her throat; this was  _beautiful_ , and she lamented that she had never read any of Gilbert’s writing before. 

“ _As she danced around me, flowers grew at her feet; marigold, buttercup, hawkweed, butterfly weed, primrose, violet_.” 

A few murmurs and titters started around the room, but Anne did not hear them, engrossed in the prose being spoken so beautifully. 

“ _She would not touch me, but after every minute or so, her eyes would meet mine, and whether she_ _were_ _so near I could feel her breath, or so far I could barely see those wide, daring, lively eyes, a warmth grew through me. Through her eyes she gifted me some of her fiery radiance, from my finger tips and toes, straight through to my heart, and I knew she would never leave me_.” 

Gilbert’s voice continued to ring smooth and confident around the room, a sound so soothing to Anne’s ears she thought she could fall asleep to it, if not for how engaged she was in the words. It was so  _romantical_ ; not a word she often associated with Gilbert Blythe. 

“ _Before, in my meadow, I had been in a perpetual evening, night looming, threatening. But as she danced around me, twirling, swirling, unfurling the knot in my stomach, my life became a never-ending dawn, the possibilities unimaginably vast. She was my dawn, my day, my life_.” 

Anne held her breath. Inexplicably, as Gilbert reached the final line, he lifted his eyes from his paper to meet Anne’s. 

“ _This fiery nymph of the meadow, she possessed my heart_.” 

Anne released her breath and Gilbert looked away from her, and back down to his paper, as she joined in the clapping of her peers. 

“That was beautiful, Gilbert,” Miss Stacy stood, and indicated he could sit back down. “Thank you for being brave enough to be the first one to share your work with us.” 

Gilbert smiled, nodded, and sat back down, looking for all the world nonchalant if not for the fact that the pink tinge to his neck had deepened, and spread further up to his face. 

- 

By the end of class, there had been time for another five students to read their work, and Gilbert was disappointed that not one of them had been Anne. He could see that she was disappointed, too, though the square in her shoulders showed that she did not want to appear affected. He had only turned his attention away from her for a moment, to gather his books, before she was stood right by his desk, smiling at him sweetly. He felt his neck grow warm, his story still in the front of his mind. 

“That was a most romantical story you wrote, Gilbert, I am highly impressed.” Anne gushed, as Gilbert’s blush deepened. “I may even begin to worry that you will take my position of number one for marks in English, and that certainly would not do, as  _then_  I would have to try to compete  for  your place in Geometry, and you  _know_  how that subject vexes me,” she continued on, eyes still bright with enthusiasm. 

“Thank you, Anne, that’s very kind of you to admit.” He smiled at her warmly. 

“Although I was disappointed not to be able to read out my own story, as I  _did_  put rather a lot of work in, and I daresay I managed to write more than any of you who spoke, as I had oh so many ideas, and I can be quite quick to get them on paper.” 

“I’m sure that’s true,” Gilbert agreed, as he began to lead them to the cloakroom, conscious that he did not want Diana waiting long for Anne. “I would have liked to hear your story, I’m sure it is far more romantical than mine. If you wouldn’t mind terribly, perhaps you could let me read it sometime.” 

Gilbert felt his heart melt at the way Anne’s face lit up at this. 

“I would be thrilled to, I do just adore sharing a story!” she exclaimed, grabbing her coat. She paushed for a moment while putting it on, then spoke even faster. “Perhaps you would like to join a meeting of our story-club, once we have found an appropriate venue once more, I’m sure sweet Ruby and Diana would not mind at all having you there for one occasion, and if you happen to have written anything else in that time you could share that with us as well – we meet to write and share stories, you see.” 

“I would feel most privileged.” 

Anne took a breath, and then suddenly noticed Diana still stood by the school door, smiling. They were the only ones left in the cloak room. 

“Don’t forget,” Gilbert spoke, pulling Anne’s attention back to him. “Mary has invited you, Marilla, and Matthew for dinner this evening.” 

“Oh, of course! Well I suppose I will see you this evening, Gil. Goodbye!” 

Gilbert watched as she skipped over to Diana, immediately engaging her in some other conversation for their walk home. He waited for a moment before collecting his coat and bag and leaving the schoolhouse himself. 

On the walk home, he let his mind wander back to Anne, as it often did when he was not thinking of his studies or his apprenticeship. As obvious at it had been, what with the oranges and the flowers and the meadows, Anne did not seem to have noticed that his story had been about her, and he was not sure if he was relieved or disappointed. He had been worried that she would notice and suddenly become awkward around him, realising his feelings and not wanting to give him reason to think she could possibly feel the same. Perhaps it was better that she was oblivious to it; he would not give up his energetic and expressive and carefree Anne for the world. 

As he neared his home, he stopped by the large red oak, as usual. After a minute or so of careful deliberation, searching through the leaves, he picked the one with the closest shade of auburn he could get to Anne’s hair, a placed it gently in his pocket. 

- 

Dinner conversation was easy, as the Cuthberts, the Lacroixes, and Blythe, had shared enough dinners by now to be comfortable in each other's presence. Anne, of course, always kept conversation lively, though to Gilbert’s mortification, she seemed keen to relay his story from earlier in the day. 

For perhaps the hundredth time in the evening, Bash caught Gilbert’s eyes with a smirk. 

“Oh but Mary it was so  _romantical_ , and I’m sure every other student was swept away with it, except maybe Billy Andrews as I cannot imagine he has much of an understanding for the romantical. I hadn’t a clue that Gilbert could write like that, what with him being so talented in geometry and science.” She turned to look straight at Gilbert, who was sat opposite her, and already watching her. “Oh and Gilbert, the symbolism you brought out between evening and dawn,” her tone had grown more reverent and gentle than enthusiastic, and Gilbert’s heart nearly skipped a beat thinking of how beautifully she understood, even if she did not know it was her who was his dawn. “I could scarcely believe it was written by my own dear classmate and friend, it could have come straight from a poetic great such as Shakespeare.” 

Though he had been growing uncomfortable with the heavy praise, and tense in anticipation for teasing from Bash, he could not help his eyes and smile growing soft and sincere as Anne held his eye contact. 

“But Mary it  _is_  a great shame he cannot read it to us here,” Anne turned to the end of the table and gushed once more. 

“Now, Anne,” Marilla interrupted, “I think you’ve embarrassed poor Gilbert enough for the night.” 

As the conversation evolved, Gilbert’s heart stayed warm, and the blush he could feel on his neck would not die, and each quick glance he shared with Anne sent his heart aflutter once more. 

Towards the end of the night, as the Cuthberts were about to take their leave, Gilbert was decided. He quickly rushed to his room, retrieved his story, and brought it back to the front room. Anne noticed immediately what was in his hand, and gave him a curious look. Gilbert rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. 

“I thought, uh,” he offered the paper, face heating up. He tried to ignore the adults looking at him, in particular the smug grin he knew would be plastered on Bash’s face. “You might get more enjoyment out of keeping it than me. English will never be my best subject and I’ll only fret over how to improve it, and what Miss Stacy might have thought of it.” 

Mercifully, Anne did not comment, and took the proffered story, gifting Gilbert in return the most delightfully sweet smile. They all said their goodnights, and the Cuthberts left. Gilbert went into the kitchen to help clean, resisting the temptation to watch Anne walk away. 

Even as she left into the night, Gilbert felt her warmth in his heart; his never-ending dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this!


End file.
